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40335 No.412   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

Memoir of a 1970s Nerd


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102881 No.338   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

Gentlemen, could you read and criticize my poem?

Like drops of syrup in a sea,
and flesh turned to quaking forgèd ironfast,
his eyes did stare so quizzically,
gasping, fishlike 'gainst the last
wall. Coughing, his skin a rime,
supping heat from flesh and trickle
of embarrassed gold from 'twixt the grime
and amber spew of darker spirits brickle
his voice a rending of souls and steel
to floor he swan-dives lonely
and nothing more to feel
save for the beating of his pulse and only
shaking now, arms to claws to wings
scratch and stop, like tying apron strings.

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>> No.345   [Delete]   [Edit]

It's purple, but I like it.

>> No.383   [Delete]   [Edit]

Was the uneven meter intentional, or am I missing something? I think you're trying to do iambic tetrameter.

>> No.393   [Delete]   [Edit]

I'm not sure what this poem is about

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362959 No.321   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

The thousand injuries of Shinku I had borne as I best could, but when she ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled — but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Shinku cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my wont, to smile in her face, and she did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of her immolation.

He had a weak point — this Shinku — although in other regards she was a doll to be respected and even feared. She prided herself upon her connoisseurship in Yakult. Few Maidens have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practice imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Shinku, like her countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of Yakult she was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from her materially; — I was skilful in the Japanese vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my sister. She accosted me with excessive warmth, for she had been drinking much. The doll wore motley. She had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and her head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see her that I thought I should never have done wringing her hand.

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Last edited 11/11/22(Tue)19:39.

>> No.322   [Delete]   [Edit]

She again took my arm, and we proceeded.

“These vaults,” she said, “are extensive.”

“The Maidens,” I replied, “were a great and numerous family.”

“I forget your arms.”

“A huge human foot d’or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.”

“And the motto?”

“Nemo me impune lacessit.”

“Good!” she said.

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>> No.369   [Delete]   [Edit]
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Haha, what a combination!
I doubt that Suigintou would like any writer as much as she'd like Poe.

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586217 No.366   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

There is a countdown to Halloween which is allegedly a viral marketing countdown for Donnie Darko book series following the movies.

Either that or its hurr durr illuminati project monarch. My working theory is that it is some kind of ARG marketing purposes unknown. Anyway its been going for at least a few years now:


Do some research and you'll find all sorts of 2spooky phenomena popping up around the place..


This website is a kind of maze. If you type 'highkey' in the top box and 'lowkey' in the bottom box you will get past the first screen, it also trails right across the web to all sorts of strange locations, government sites. DD3 better be worth the wait.

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34959 No.362   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

I've hear that this is a pretty good e-book series, but I don't have a kindle. Has anyone read it?
It's by some military guy named Will Leam.

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47604 No.340   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

We need some writers.

>must be willing to write sex scenes
>must know each dolls personality to an extent
>> No.343   [Delete]   [Edit]

I sort of want to volunteer, but I don't think I'm up to it.

>> No.344   [Delete]   [Edit]

Sounds possibly interesting. I haven't written much in a while, but hmmmmmm...

>> No.349   [Delete]   [Edit]
>sex scenes
>with dolls

I'll pass, thanks.

>> No.350   [Delete]   [Edit]

You gay son?

>> No.354   [Delete]   [Edit]

I'm up for it. As long as I get to write sex scenes.

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129309 No.346   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

[start - crits loved]
I couldn’t believe he would try to do that again. I’m honestly scared for him.
I can’t tell you what other people were thinking when they heard about it. Sure, some would feel that bullies are to blame, but do the bullies feel anything?
I wish I could stand up against them, but I do not have the best means of doing so.


I thought that, by now, there'd be less people who would go Mean Girls-style on him - I really did. I don't like being wrong.

Luckily, we got to him before he could fall off the roof or cut himself. Neither his mother, Jim, nor myself want to see him in this much pain, and, quite frankly, it scares me that he fell into this state of depression and self-loathing after a long period of getting used to things. I loved how he just ... there's not a word I can use other than BLOSSOMED into what he is now.

But so many bullies.
So much pressure.

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655 No.328   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

Is it considered a slashfic when it's written by the author of the canon? I don't know. Anyway, here's a little fiction I wrote about some of the characters for one of my novels.

Password qf6e7qecOQ (apparently my tripcode is a typo). PDF format. FONT SIZE IS HUGE FOR KINDLE. AND IT'S PORN!

And for anyone who wants to read some of the canon, you can find the prologue here. http://otaku-son.deviantart.com/#/d3a1bdl

Last edited 12/03/05(Mon)22:12.

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4946 No.323   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

Fave things on jottify?..



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68642 No.303   [Delete]   [Edit]  [Reply]

Alright, so I didn't really think all that much about it and ended up bumping a thread with massive-old information.

So here's just a thread that's all me, hon. You know you want this.

Genres: Humor/Satire, Dramedy, Social Realism, Urban Fantasy - Surrealism/Magical Realism
Link: http://anondesu.deviantart.com
Notes: Dialogue-heavy, character driven short-fic's the game. Talking about myself too much without any prodding just feels wrong, so I'll let y'all decide what's what instead. All three of you who use this board.

Pic unrelated.

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>> No.307   [Delete]   [Edit]
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[Good to see we're back. Here's another story where nothing happens.]

"Does it get internet?"

"Uh, no."

"Can you get apps on it?"

"Dude, no, I've gone over this."

"So it can read books," Ray said, rubbing his hands together through his gloves. "That's it. You can't check Facebook with it. You can't watch porn with it. You can't even fucking play Angry Birds with it. You just read books."

"Uh, yeah," I said. "That's why it's called an eReader."

"Hey, I have a book. I have a lot of books. I can read books with those too. You know what else I can do with them? I can use them as coasters. Or frisbees. Fuck, I can wipe my ass with them if it came down to that."

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>> No.311   [Delete]   [Edit]

.... lol so random. This needs to be developed a bit more, and add a plot twist (everyone needs a twist). Overall, has potential to be great.

Must admit, I didn't read it, since I am annoyed by the TV show you parody. Can't keep from hearing the Opening run through my head.

>> No.317   [Delete]   [Edit]


Hah, CN Tower was meant to be a scene in a day, moreso than anything with a plot. I was more concerned with painting a picture than telling a story.

And Fresh Prince was our Happy Days, man. That show was legit :P

>> No.318   [Delete]   [Edit]
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[Birdget asked me to write something about a harpy, a little bird, and a window. This happened :V]

This is Ava's dream.

Every night, when Ava sleeps, she dreams of being a bird. Only not exactly a bird; closer to a harpy, but without the man-eating conotation, and not ugly, if you were using the later Greco-Roman tradition. Her whole body is still intact and rewound back to the days of her post-graduate diet and exercise regimen. So basically her, but with wings, and younger. So not a bird or harpy in any sense of those words.

For ninety to one-hundred twenty minutes out of her six to eight hours of sleep every night, she was a not-bird not-harpy younger winged Ava. For ninety to one-hundred twenty minutes every night, she was free.

A bird wakes her up. The bird, rather. It is the same bird that wakes her up every day. The same bird that was always on her windowsill. The same bird that would sit there and chirp at her every morning until she woke up.

This is Ava's alarm clock.

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>> No.319   [Delete]   [Edit]
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Ava finds an open seat on the train. The seats are never open. Today, though, she got to rest her weary legs by placing her ass where hundreds of thousands of asses have sat, farted, and scratched themselves. The janitors don't even bother anymore. I don't blame them. If she saw just how dirty they really were, she wouldn't either.

Every day she goes further and further away from her little apartment on top of Mark's Indian restaurant. She has a bag full of resumes and a map of all the local businesses. First, she'll stop by last week's Xs, then she'd move on to this week's Os. She'll go through them all, door to door, handing out her resume and talking to the manager and/or most senior employee. Most of them were high school kids. If she had less education, less experience, maybe she'd be able to land a position as a dead-eyed cashier or stock boy.

But she had education, and she had experience. Ava ran away from her home in a sleepy suburban town at the tender age of eighteen and made her way to the big city, where she was going to be free. She arrived with just the clothes on her back, two pennies in her pocket, and eyes gleaming with hope. Four years of studying <UNDECLARED> later, she went on to land a position she loved in the aforementioned field.

She made her rounds through the shops, the restaurants, the shops again. Racks and racks of clothes, each one different enough from the last to justify having to buy them both. Somewhere, three thousand miles from her and her bag of resumes, in the middle of this jungle of clothes, an Indonesian child was sewing the next season's fashions. She gets one cent for every dress she packs. The bus from her shack to the factory is thirty-three cents one way. When she's finished for the day, she may have finished one hundred dresses. She will pay sixty-six cents for the priviledge to make gaudy salmon-pink dresses and neon blue tights that an American teenager will wear four times this season, then throw in the back of her closet and laugh about twenty years later. The other thirty-four cents goes to feeding her sick baby brother. In two years, he will die anyway, and she would have wasted one hundred sixty-four dollars and twenty-five cents American feeding him for three years.

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